


Something about his eyes

by DorkFace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Background Camden Lahey, Bigotry & Prejudice, Crushes, Derek Hale & Jackson Whittemore Friendship, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Elementary School, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Junior High, Kid Fic, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, OMC then I guess?, Out of Character Peter Hale, Out of date views on mental health and disability, Outdated views and opinions, POV Derek Hale, POV Stiles Stilinski, Papa Hale - Freeform, Papa Hale is a bit of a dick, Papa Hale's name is David, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Peter Hale Deserves Nice Things, Peter Hale Ships Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Sheriff Stilinski is Not a Sheriff, Stiles Stilinski Deserves Nice Things, Teen Romance, The Author Owns Nothing, The original is set in the 50s so..., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unrequited Crush, Wholesome Sterek, Young Derek Hale, Young Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Young Stiles Stilinski, blink and you miss it Derek Hale/Lydia Martin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DorkFace/pseuds/DorkFace
Summary: All I ever wanted was for Stiles Stilinski to leave me alone.It all started in the summer before the start of second grade. Which for me, would be the start of more than half a decade of strategic avoidance and social discomfort.ORThe author rips off the film Flipped (2010).
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, brief Derek Hale/Lydia Martin
Comments: 23
Kudos: 43
Collections: Sterek Goodness





	1. Stiles Stilinski can't take a hint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER - The author does not own Teen Wolf or Flipped this is meant as a piece of fanfiction. Nothing more. 
> 
> Lydia gets a bad rap in this fic. I love Lydia so much but no one else really worked in her role. Apologies in advance. 
> 
> I am British so any American inaccuracies are my own.

All I ever wanted was for Stiles Stilinski to leave me alone. 

It all started in the summer before the start of second grade. Which for me, would be the start of more than half a decade of strategic avoidance and social discomfort.

\--

“Here we are!” Dad announced, pulling the car into the driveway of a brown and cream detached suburban home. The neighbourhood had seemed pleasant enough on the drive in.

Mom had turned around to face me and Laura in the backseat as we pulled up to the house, an excited grin on her face, “What do you guys think?” 

“I like this place.” My sister Laura said with confidence as she surveyed the street from the back window of our family’s sedan. 

“It’s cool!” I remember nodding along nervously. Laura, who is six years older than me, had always exploded with confidence and enthusiasm. Me on the other hand, I had always been the quiet one, never wanting to rock the boat. 

As soon as the car stopped Laura was out of the door like a shot, “Oh! What colour is my room!” She exclaimed, bounding up to the house. 

“Just you wait!” Our mother, Talia Hale, shouted shooting out of the car to catch up with Laura.

I went to go after them when my father, David Hale, called out to me, “Hey come on buddy, Derek. Why don’t you and I go help unload the van,” he gestured to the bright orange moving van which had followed us here. “and the womenfolk here, can get in the kitchen and start setting up.” 

“Ok Dad.” I shrugged. 

As I hopped into the back of the moving truck after my dad, I heard a voice behind me, “Hi I’m Stiles Stilinski.”

I jumped in surprise and turned around hesitantly. Stood at the entrance to the van was a boy, about my age. He was skinny with brown hair, pale skin, and what looked to be lots of little moles peppering his skin. Stiles grinned at me and unabashedly reached over to pick up a nearby box. 

“Hey, hey, what are you doing?” My dad protested. 

“Don’t you want some help?” Enquired Stiles, head tilted to the side. 

“No.” My dad chided, “There are some valuable things in there.” He said, pointing at the box that Stiles had gone to pick up.

“Oh!” Stiles startled, “uh, how about this one?” He suggested, bending to pick up a different box. 

“No!” Dad exclaimed, putting his foot down on top of the box. “No, no, no. Run home. Your mother’s probably wondering where you are.”

Stiles frowned, “Oh no. My mother doesn’t live with us. My father knows where I am. He said its fine.”

As I stood observing their exchange, it didn’t take me long to realise that this kid could not take a hint. 

“It’s crowded in here, with the three of us.” My father suggested. 

“I don’t mind” Stiles grinned.

Of any kind. 

It was then that the kid turned to me and pointing at another box said, “You wanna push this one together?” 

Dad stepped on top of this box as well and then looked at me. “Derek, isn’t it time for you to go help your mother?” 

“Huh?” I responded, confused. To which my father raised his eyebrows imploringly and I finally caught on, “Oh yeah!” 

Clearly though, nothing could stop Stiles. 

As I leapt off the moving truck and ran across the front lawn towards the new house, the kid followed me. I was about to tell him to get lost when the weirdest thing happened. 

With the house in sight, I suddenly felt his hand on my shoulder. The weirdo was clearly trying to prevent me from making my escape. Then, in what would be a poorly executed attempt to stop him from touching me, I spun my arm backwards. 

It was like it happened in slow motion. As I extended my arm backwards, Stiles refused to let go and his clammy hand ended up sliding down my arm resulting in the single most disgusting moment of my short life. 

I couldn’t believe it. There I was holding hands with this strange boy! He looked at me and smiled.

How did I get into this mess?!

“Well, hello.” My mother called from the front porch. I turned to her in shock as she descended the stairs, Stiles’ hand still clasped in my own. “I see you’ve met my son.” 

“Uh-huh.” Stiles nodded still grinning, hand still in mine. 

Shaking myself out of my state of distress, I did the only manly thing available when you’re 7 years old. I dropped Stiles’ hand as if it had burned me and ran for cover behind my mother, peering around her skirts as she sent Stiles back over the road to his own house. 

\--

However, my troubles were far from over. On the first day of school that year, the minute I walked into my second-grade classroom, Stiles’ high pitched shout was there to greet me. 

“Derek! You’re here.” He cried running up and engulfing me in an unsolicited hug. The rest of the class fell about laughing, it was mortifying.

It was clear: school would not be a sanctuary. I was branded for life. 

In the halls, snide voices would ask, “Hey, Derek, where’s your boyfriend?” 

At lunch, they would enquire, “Hey, Derek, why don’t you ask him to marry you?”

And on the playground, the girls would sing, “Derek and Stiles, sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” 

Stiles didn’t help appease matters, he would chase me around the playground and try to sit next to me in every class only adding fuel to the gossip fire. The teasing became unbearable and he did nothing to stop it!

My first year in town was a disaster, and the next three weren’t much better. But finally, in the sixth grade, I took action. I hatched the plan. I asked out Lydia Martin. 

It was early October when I made my first move, “Lydia! Lydia, wait up!”

I had spotted Lydia near the entrance to school as I had gotten off the bus that morning and jogged to catch up with her, weaving my way through the throngs of children. Turning when I called her name, she smiled when she saw it was me.

“Hey, Derek.” She said, smoothly flipping her long fiery hair over her shoulder. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me sometime?” I asked, hopefully, confidently. 

“Sure” she replied looking up at me through her eyelashes. 

Stiles took the same bus as me to school every morning. He witnessed the whole thing. 

To fully appreciate the brilliance of this plan, you have to understand that Stiles hated Lydia Martin. Though I never understood why, Lydia was nice, friendly and she had a lot of hair. 

The idea was that Lydia would eat with me, maybe we’d walk around together, and hopefully Stiles would lose interest. 

The only problem with my genius plan was something I had never accounted for. Lydia Martin bored me to tears. Sure, I knew she was beautiful and yes, she was super smart, but when she spoke it’s like my eyes glazed over and my brain took a vacation. I didn’t care that her mum had allowed her to have her ears pierced but she had to wait until she was 16 to get hoops and I didn’t care that she was already flying through eighth grade math. I had zero interest in actually dating Lydia. 

Still. One must keep up appearances. I would follow Lydia around like a zombie, barely paying her any attention except for when I’d spot Stiles in the halls. Then I would quickly grab Lydia’s hand and nod along attentively as she spoke, revelling in the sour looks he’d shoot our way. 

Things were unfolding quite nicely and Stiles was finally leaving me alone! That was, until my supposed best friend, Jackson Whittemore took an interest in Lydia himself. Loyalty gave way to desire and Jackson, the traitor, told Lydia what I was up to. 

Judging by the bright red, smarting, hand print left on my cheek one late November afternoon by the water fountain, she didn’t take it well. 

After that, word got back to Stiles and pretty soon he started with the goo-goo eyes again. Only this time, it was worse. He started sniffing me! That’s right, sniffing me. I had caught him at it in history class two weeks into December. 

What was up with that? 

My only consolation was that next year would be different. Junior High. Bigger school. Maybe we would be in different classes and it would finally, finally be over.

* * *

The day I first met Derek Hale, I flipped. It was those eyes, something in those dazzling eyes. 

“You wanna push this one together?” His family has just moved into the neighbourhood and I’d gone over to help them. From the second I saw him through the back window of his family car I just knew I needed to know this kid. Hopefully we could bond over carrying boxes together. 

However, I’d been in the van all of two minutes when his dad sent him off to help his mom. I could see he didn’t want to go. So, I chased after him to see if we could play a little before he got trapped inside. I had grabbed his shoulder in an attempt to get his attention and the next thing I know, he’s holding my hand and looking right into my eyes!

My heart stopped. Was this it? Would this be my first kiss? 

“Well, hello.” His mother interrupted our moment as she addressed me, walking down the stairs to the porch and towards us. Derek’s hand was still clasped in mine as he turned to her in shock, he was so embarrassed his cheeks had turned completely red! “I see you’ve met my son.”

I could tell the moment had gone, so I left shortly after that. Derek going inside to help out his mom. I went to bed that night thinking of the kiss that might have been. I mean, it was clear he had feelings for me. He was just too shy to show them!

My father said that some boys were like that. 

So, I decided to help him out. 

On the first day of second grade I discovered that Derek was in my class and I knew this would be the perfect opportunity to bring him out of his shell! I would give him every opportunity to get over his shyness. 

First, I had to make sure my feelings for him were obvious so that he’d feel comfortable with letting me know how he felt. 

On that first day, I greeted him warmly, “Derek! You’re here.” I cried as I enveloped him in a big hug so there was no way he could mistake my feelings for him. 

I carried on with this tactic for a while, but it seemed to be making him even more nervous. He’s always been so adorably shy. A different approach was needed.

By the sixth grade I’d learned to control myself. But then, Lydia Martin entered the picture. 

When I first met Lydia in kindergarten, I thought she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. She looked like a doll. I was instantly enamoured and I was desperate to be her friend. For an entire morning, I had been in love with Lydia Martin. 

Our love was over before nap time. During just one recess she had stolen Malia Tate’s teddy bear claiming it matched her outfit more than Malia’s, made fun of Isaac Lahey’s curly hair for being too girly, and made my best friend Scott have an asthma attack after pushing him over in the sandpit. Let’s just say the illusion was quickly shattered. 

She never got any better. Essentially, Lydia Martin was nothing but a whiny, gossipy, backstabbing flirt. All hair and no substance. 

I’d stood there heartbroken as I watched Derek ask her out that day. Then for weeks I had to see them in school, practically rubbing their relationship in my face. There _she_ was, holding hands with Derek. My Derek. The one who was walking around with my first kiss!

My solution was to ignore her. I knew a boy of Derek’s calibre would eventually see through a shallow conniver like Lydia Martin. It took all of a few weeks, they broke up at recess. 

I remember watching triumphantly through the window in the cafeteria door as Derek broke up with her. Clearly he had seen her for what she really was and was finally ending it! Judging by her cracking right hook, she didn’t take it well.

Now that Derek was out of Lydia’s evil clutches, he started being nicer to me. Even saying hi to me in class now! 

He was so shy, and so cute and his hair; it smelled like watermelon. I couldn’t get enough of it. I spent the whole year secretly sniffing watermelon and wondering if I was ever going to get my kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 coming soon! Watch this space. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts and I'm so sorry again for all the Lydia bashing. Our queen truly does deserve better.


	2. More than the sum of its parts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm loving writing this fic so much I couldn't stop myself from hashing out Chapter 2 as soon as possible! 
> 
> Here we finally meet Uncle Peter and Derek is an idiot. 
> 
> As usual, I do not own Teen Wolf or Flipped.

Seventh grade brought changes alright. But the biggest one didn’t happen at school; it happened at home. 

My Uncle Peter came to live with us. 

At first I was excited about him moving in, hoping that I’d finally have someone to play ball with. My father was far too busy for any of that nonsense and the Uncle Peter I remembered had always been a good laugh. However, most days he just sat there, staring out of the window in the family room. 

Peter was melancholy because he had recently lost his wife, my Aunt, to a long battle with cancer. Mom said he stared like that because he missed her, but that was not something Peter would ever talk about with me. As a matter of fact, he never talked about much of anything with me. 

That is, until Stiles appeared in the local newspaper.

I was walking through the lounge one evening after school, I had just helped myself to a nice cold coke from Laura’s stash and had planned on getting some calculus homework done, when he called me over. 

“Oh, Derek. Can I speak with you?” He asked. 

“What?” I responded, probably a bit too eagerly. 

“Have a seat kid.” He gestured to the chair next to him. 

Once I had sat down, out of nowhere he demanded, “Tell me about your friend Stiles Stilinski.” What did Uncle Peter want to talk about Stiles for?

I laughed, “Stiles. He’s not exactly my friend.” 

“Oh, why’s that?”

At this point I was point blank confused, “Why do you want to know?” I asked, shaking my head with a furrowed brow. 

This was when Peter pointed to the newspaper he had in his lap. Now, Stiles Stilinski did not wind up in the Beacon Chronical for being an eighth-grade Einstein. No, he got front-page coverage because he refused to climb out of a sycamore tree.

\--

Stiles Stilinski and that stupid sycamore tree. He always thought it was God’s gift to our little corner of the universe. It stood tall and vast next to the bus stop from which we’d catch the bus to school. I mean, I suppose it was a cool tree and all but it was still just a tree!

I vividly remembered him trying to entice me up there with him and his stupid friend Scott back in elementary school. 

“Hey Derek. Wanna come climb the tree with me and Scott?” He had yelled down at me. 

“No thanks.” I scoffed, all I wanted to do was ride my bike in peace. 

I remember refusing him another time in sixth grade on the way home from school.

“Derek, come up here! It’s fun.” He called. The last thing I wanted to do was spend any more time with Stiles Stilinski. “You can see everything!”

Thinking on my feet I replied, “I can’t. My dad needs me to help him fix… a thing.” 

I had quickly hurried home. With my reputation, that’s all I needed. Climb up a tree with Stiles Stilinski and I’d be dragged right back into the second grade. Derek and Stiles sitting in a tree. 

You may as well make me eat lima beans for the rest of my life. 

And do not get me started on his morning routine! 

“One block away” Stiles hollered from the top of the sycamore tree. He this annoying habit of tracking our school bus as it approached our stop, feeling the need to give us minute-by-minute updates on its whereabouts. 

Two minutes later, “Two blocks!”

He was halfway down at this point, “One block away!” 

“Like that’s a valuable piece of information.” I scoffed to my friend Jackson. 

“Yeah” he replied, “I hate it when he does that. I like to think there’s at least a chance the bus won’t show.” Jackson rolled his eyes as the bus pulled up. 

Having finished his dismount from the infernal tree, Stiles sidled up next to me. 

“I think the tree looks particularly beautiful in this light. Don’t you Derek?” He grinned.

“If by ‘beautiful’ you mean ‘unbelievably ugly’ then, yes, I would agree.” I sneered, fist bumping Jackson. 

Stiles rolled his eyes and stomped onto the bus. Turning around to look at me as he got on he said dismissively, “You’re just visually challenged. I feel sorry for you.” He then haughtily stormed off to take his seat. 

Visually challenged? Visually challenged?! This from the boy who lived in a house that was the joke of the neighbourhood? 

\--

The Stilinskis lived right across the road from us and their yard was a sight to behold. They had bushes growing over windows and weeds all over the place. It bugged my dad bigtime. 

Whenever he would spot Stiles’ dad painting in the front yard, my dad would look out of our window and say, “Oh there he is. The Sherriff’s deputy that thinks he’s a painter. That jeep’s not ugly enough in real life? He’s gotta make a painting of it?” 

“No he does landscapes” Laura had commented once, “He sells them at the country fair. People say they’re beautiful.”

“Landscapes?” Dad scoffed, “Let me tell you something. The world would have a lot more beauty in it if he’d do a little landscaping on that piece of crap he calls a yard.”

Sometimes, Dad’s comments didn’t quite sit right with me.

“I feel bad for his wife.” Mom sighed, “She married a dreamer. Because of that the two of them could never have been happy. That’s probably why she doesn’t live with them anymore.” She commented, shaking her head. 

“I wouldn’t blame her! But, why do we have to be unhappy?” Dad complained. 

As annoying as the yard was to my dad, it was nothing compared to how annoying Stiles Stilinski was in that tree. Every morning we had to listen to the sound of his blow-by-blow traffic report. 

However, this all changed one fateful morning... 

As Jackson and I were approaching the bus stop, we noticed some construction workers shouting up to Stiles in the tree. 

“Listen, kid. I’m this close to calling the police.” He had said, gesturing with his thumb and pointer finger. “You are trespassing and obstructing progress on a contracted job.” 

“Guys, what’s going on?” Jackson whispered to some nearby kids. 

The construction worker continued, “Either you come down, or we cut you down.”

“Derek!” Stiles shouted from the tree, spotting me approaching as the school bus pulled up behind us, “You guys, come up here with me. They won’t cut it down if we’re all up here!” 

Stiles was frantic, they wanted to cut down his tree. I couldn’t understand why that mutant tangle of gnarly branches meant so much to her. 

I turned to get on the bus, “Derek, please!” Stiles begged. I felt bad for him but I wasn’t about to cut school over it. So, I got on the bus and left him there. 

\--

“Why isn’t he your friend, Derek?” Uncle Peter had asked me frowning. 

“You’d have to know Stiles.” I scoffed. 

“Well, I’d like to.” Peter retorted, resolutely nodding his head. 

“Why?”

“That boy has an iron backbone. Why don’t you invite him over sometime?” He smiled. 

“An iron backbone?” I questioned, disbelievingly. “He’s just stubborn and he’s pushy beyond belief.” 

Peter raised his eyebrows knowingly, “Oh, is that so?” He smirked. 

“And!” I responded fiercely, “He’s been stalking me since the second grade.” 

“Well,” Peter said wistfully, “a boy like that doesn’t live next door to everyone.” 

“Lucky them.” I grumbled. 

“Read this.” Peter laughed and passed me the newspaper. “Without prejudice.” He commanded. 

I took it from him and dumped it in my desk draw, not even giving it a second glance. Like I needed to know anything more about Stiles Stilinski. 

\--

The day after they cut the sycamore tree down, Stiles wasn’t at the bus stop that morning. Or the morning after that. He was at school, but you’d never know it.

He would arrive early, before everyone else, and sit glumly at the front of the class, only ever bothering to talk to his dumb friend Scott McCall. 

I told myself I should be glad about it. I mean, isn’t that what I’d always wanted? 

But, still. I felt bad for him. I was gonna tell him I was sorry, but quickly decided that was the last thing I needed: Stiles Stilinski thinking I missed him.

* * *

I loved to watch my father paint. Or really, I loved to hear him talk whilst he painted. I learned a lot about my dad that way. He told me all sorts of things. Like how he got his first job delivering hay in Beacon County and how we wished he’d gone for the Sherriff job a few years back. 

Then one day, he surprised me. We were sat in the back yard together one crisp spring day, Dad was working on one of his landscape paintings and I was sat to one side watching him work. We had been chatting companionably when he asked me a question out of the blue. 

“What’s going on with you and Derek Hale?” He asked, still focused on the painting in front of him. 

“What do you mean?” I asked nervously, “Nothing.” 

“Oh, ok.” He said, clearly not believing me, “My mistake.” 

Did he know something I didn’t? I had to ask, “Why would you even think that?”

“No reason.” He shook his head and carried on painting. “Just that you… talk about him all the time.” 

“I do?” I winced. 

“Mm-hm.” He nodded.

“I don’t know.” I sighed. “I guess it’s something about his eyes. Or maybe his smile.” 

“But what about him?” He asked, kind of solemnly. 

“What?” 

“You have to look at the whole landscape.” He insisted. 

“What does that mean?” I enquired. Where was he going with this?

“A painting is more than the sum of its parts.” He said sagely. “A cow by itself is just a cow. A meadow by itself is just grass and flowers. And the sun, peeking through the trees, is just a beam of light. But, you put them all together and it can be magic.” 

At the time, I didn’t really understand what he was saying. That was, until one afternoon when I was up in the sycamore tree. 

I was rescuing a kite that had gotten stuck quite high up. Higher than I had ever been. And the higher I got, the more amazed I was by the view. I began to notice how wonderful the breeze smelled. Like sunshine and wild grass. I couldn’t stop breathing it in, filling my lungs with the sweetest smell I’d ever known. I was hypnotised. 

“Hey! You found my kite!” I startled and quickly looked down. 

“Derek! You should come up here.” I grinned. “It’s so beautiful.” 

“Erm, I can’t! I sprained my, um… I have a rash.” Came Derek’s blubbering response before he ran off without his kite. So cute. 

From that moment on, that became my spot. I could sit there for hours just looking out at the world. Some days the sunsets would be purple and pink, and some days they were a blazing orange setting fire to the clouds on the horizon. It was during one of those sunsets that my father’s idea of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts moved from my head, to my heart. 

Some days I would get there extra early to watch the sunrise. One morning I was making mental notes of how the pink and orange streaks of light were cutting through the clouds so I could tell my dad when I heard a noise below. 

A man had parked his car right at the foot of the sycamore tree, on the grass. I thought to myself that I’d better let him know that this was a bus stop and he might be in the way when the bus arrives. 

“Excuse me!” I shouted. “Excuse me. I’m sorry, but you can’t park there. That’s a bus stop.” 

That’s when I noticed there was more than one man and they seemed to have some heavy looking construction equipment with them. The first man looked up after I had shouted down. 

“Hey,” he said, “What are you doing up there? You can’t be up there. We’re gonna take this thing down!” 

What?! No, surely not... 

“The tree?” I asked, distressed. 

“Yeah!” He continued to shout, “Come on down!” 

“B-but who told you you could cut it down?” I cried.

“The owner.” I could tell that he was quickly losing his patience with me.

“Why?”

The guy shook his head, “Because he’s gonna build a house, and this tree’s in the way. So, come on kid, we’ve got work to do.” He motioned for me to get now.

“You can’t cut it down!” I was crying by this point, clinging to the trunk of the tree for dear life. “You just can’t.”

“Listen, kid. I’m this close to calling the police.” He had said, gesturing with his thumb and pointer finger. “You are trespassing and obstructing progress on a contracted job. Either you come down, or we cut you down.” 

“Go ahead!” I screamed. “Cut me down! I’m not coming down. I’m never coming down!” 

That’s when I spotted Derek. Surely he’d help me! He knew how important this tree was to me.

“Derek! You guys, come up here with me. They won’t cut it down if we’re all up here!” I cried as the school bus pulled up. It wasn’t working, they were getting on the bus. Did they not even care?! 

“Derek, please don’t let them do this.” I begged. “Come on you guys!” He seemed to hesitate.

I was sobbing now. “Derek please. You don’t have to come up this high, just a little way.” He turned and started to get on the bus. “Derek please. Please!” 

I was a wreck, tears and snot teaming down my face as the bus pulled away. What happened after that was a blur. 

It seemed like the whole town was there, but still I wouldn’t move. Then, the police were called and my father showed up. He talked the firemen into letting him climb up to where I was. 

“Stiles, it’s time to come down.” He said reaching out to me from the top of the ladder. 

“Dad, please don’t let them do this.” I cried.

“Buddy…”

“Dad, look!” I said gesturing around us. “You can see everything. You can see the whole world from here.” 

“No view is worth my son’s safety! Now come on.” He offered me his hand to help me out of the tree.

I shook my head, tears still threatening to fall. “I can’t.” 

“Mieczyslaw Stilinski, it’s time to come down now.” My father responded firmly. 

“Please Daddy.” I begged.

“Its time.” He looked at me, tears in his own eyes now and I knew then that I had lost.

\--

And that was it. I must have cried for two weeks straight. Oh, sure, I went to school and did the best I could but nothing seemed to matter. I couldn’t concentrate in class and I couldn’t face my classmates. Not even Scott could cheer me up. 

Somehow rhomboids, and isosceles triangles didn’t seem so important. 

I rode my bike to school so that I didn’t have to pass by the stump that used to be the world’s most magnificent sycamore tree. But no matter what I did I couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

I had been sulking in my room one evening after school when my dad knocked on the door. 

“Are you ok?” He asked coming into the room carrying what looked like a covered painting. 

“It was just a tree.” I insisted. 

“No. It wasn’t just a tree.” He replied. I turned to face him and he uncovered the painting in his hands. It was my tree. He had painted my tree. I wanted to cry. 

“I never want you to forget how you felt when you were up there.” He said. I had to hug him. 

“Thanks Dad.” I said, crying as I wrapped my arms around his neck. 

I hung the painting up on the wall opposite my bed. It was the first thing I saw every morning and the last thing I saw before I went to sleep. And once I could look at it without crying I saw more than the tree and what being up there meant to me. I saw the day that my view of the things around me started

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There she is! Uncle Peter totally ships it. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Chapter 3 coming soon.


	3. Derek Hale doesn't like eggs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No chickens were harmed in the making of this chapter...
> 
> As usual I own nothing. 
> 
> Derek is still a bit of a dick in this one. Give him time! He'll see the light.

I have never been a huge fan of eggs. I mean, I could always take them or leave them. That is, until one day in Isaac Lahey’s garage when my feelings about eggs were solidified. 

I was over at the Lahey’s house one afternoon because Laura had joined Camden Lahey’s band, he was Isaac's older brother. Laura had joined as their drummer; she just loved making as much noise as possible, whenever possible. They were using the garage for band practice and I had tagged along to hang out with Isaac. His dad had always given me the creeps so we had decided to loiter in the garage and watch the band practice. 

They were mid-way through a song when Camden suddenly stopped playing, “Hey, hey, hey. Guys! Edna’s found her breakfast.” He said pointing excitedly at a tank in the corner of the room. 

You see, the Lahey’s kept a snake in their garage. I don’t know much about snakes but Edna looked small and friendly enough. However, as Camden shouted the snake was slowly creeping along the floor of her tank towards a small, spotted, quail’s egg. We had all quickly gathered around the tank to watch. This was a mistake. 

I could have gone by whole life without knowing that snakes eat eggs raw if it hadn’t been for Camden. From that moment on eggs were a no-go for me. I mean, if a slimy reptile found them appetising, there was certainly no place for them in my diet. 

Everyone else kept going on about how cool it was and how much time you’d save if humans could eat eggs raw. I was just trying to keep my lunch down. 

“Wow, that’s so neat!” Laura exclaimed. “Don’t you think Derek?”

“Yeah, neat.” I grimaced. 

“So Derbear,” Camden smirked. Damn Laura for telling him about that nickname. “How do you think he’s going to digest that?”

“Stomach acid?” I replied, not knowing.

“You’d like to think that.” Camden chuckled. The snake began to convulse in the tank. “Wait, everybody quiet. Here she goes! Eggs over easy.” The snake’s body jerked as it crushed the egg inside its body. We could hear the crunch of the shell through the walls of the tank. 

“Gross, gross, gross!” Laura cried.

“Wait, wait. You haven’t even seen the best part.” Camden replied. At that, the snake began to quiver, opening its mouth wide. Then, it proceeded to regurgitate the egg shell. Spitting it out onto the floor of the tank. 

“Urgh! Gross!” Laura shrieked. The whole time I just stood there staring in horror.

I tried to be casual about it but it didn’t take. I started having bad dreams. I’d be trapped inside a huge egg and this monster would open its jaws and start to devour me. I’d wake up just in time, teaming with sweat and scared out of my mind. 

Then, one Sunday afternoon, the real nightmare began.

“Hi Derek! I brought these over for you and your family.” Stiles grinned broadly. “My chickens are laying eggs.” He shrugged, passing me a box of what must have been at least two dozen eggs.

“-What?” I asked glancing nervously at the box in my hands. 

“You remember Liam and Theo and Hayden and Mason and Corey and Brett.” He counted on his fingers as he listed off the names of his chickens. “The ones I hatched for the science fair!” 

“How could I forget?” I grimaced. 

It was classic Stiles Stilinski, he totally dominated the fair. And get this, his project was all about watching boring eggs hatch. I mean, here I had a live-action erupting volcano and all anyone cared about was Stiles’ boring chicks breaking out of their boring shells. 

But hey, he won. I lost. I’ve never been one to dwell, but, that didn’t mean I had to eat his lousy eggs. 

That evening as we sat down for dinner my mom commented, “I think it was very sweet of Stiles to bring us those eggs.” 

“I don’t care.” I said indignantly. “I’m still having cereal tomorrow.” 

“Yeah!” My dad piped up, nodding his head at me. “How do we know there’s no chicks in one of those eggs?” 

Peter scoffed, “We used to eat farm-fresh eggs when we were kids didn’t we Talia? They were delicious!” 

Mom looked as if she were about to agree with him when Dad interrupted, “Yeah, well that’s all well and good but what if we crack one open and a dead chick falls out?” 

Peter rolled his eyes, “Do they have a rooster?” he asked. “If they don’t have a rooster the eggs can’t be fertile.” 

“And!” My mom finally found her voice, “if they did have a rooster we’d know. The whole neighbourhood would know!” She smiled at Peter. 

“Maybe they got it de-yodeled.” Laura said conspiratorially, looking at me with a glint in her eyes. 

“De-yodeled?” Dad asked. 

“You know, de-cock-a-doodle-doo’d.” She laughed.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dad frowned at Laura. Dad always seemed to be frowning at Laura. 

“Like they de-bark dogs.” She shrugged. Dad looked around the table at the rest of us, alarmed.

“Derek,” Mom gave Dad a strange look, “why don’t you just ask Stiles?” 

I scoffed, “I don’t think-“

“What?” Laura interrupted, “you too afraid to talk to him?” She teased. 

“-I’m not afraid to talk to him!” I barked back. 

Laura responded by mimicking a chicken, flapping her elbows about and making stupid noises. I had no choice but to hit her with the ultimate comeback. 

“I know you are but what am I?” I sneered. 

“Okay!” My Dad interrupted, clearly aggravated. “Just talk to him and find out.” 

\--

I absolutely was not going to speak to Stiles Stilinski. So, the next day, as we were walking home from school, I asked my friend Jackson. 

“How do you tell if one’s a rooster?”

Jackson rolled his eyes, “Well, a rooster is bigger duh! And, has longer feathers.” I nodded along. “And they’ve got that red stuff growing out of their head. And around their neck too.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard to spot…” I pondered. 

“Although, come to think of it,” Jackson said thoughtfully. “Chickens have the rubbery red stuff too. Just not as much” 

Jackson’s expertise in roosters was the cornerstone of our plan to avoid contact with Stiles Stilinski. The balance of which involved spying over his back fence. 

That same afternoon we snuck around the back of the Stilinskis’ yard, hoping for a glimpse of Stiles’ chickens. We managed to find some holes in the back fence, so we tried peering through. 

“I can’t see the stupid chickens.” I huffed. 

“We gotta get them out of the coop.” Jackson said looking around on the ground for something. He then picked up a rock and threw it over the fence, hitting the coop.

I about nearly lost my mind, what if the noise alerted Stiles or his dad?! Fortunately for Jackson it worked and the chickens started emerging from the coop. 

“Is that a rooster?” I asked, looking at the first bird to leave the coop. 

“Nah, it looks like a chicken.”

“How can you tell?”

“It just does!” Jackson snapped. See what I mean? Expertise. 

“Shush, sssh. There’s Stiles.” I whispered as we watched Stiles approach the chicken coop with a bucket. 

“Hey guys!” He smiled at the chickens. From the bucket, he began to throw grains of what must have been chicken feed on the floor for the birds. “Go on, there you go.”

We carried on watching Stiles feed them for a couple of minutes when Jackson whispered assuredly, “Yeah, they’re all chickens.”

“There’s no rooster?” I questioned.

“What did I just say!” Jackson huffed.

“How can you tell?”

“Well, none of them are strutting.” 

“Roosters strut?” I was confused now; he didn’t mention that before.

Jackson was clearly losing his patience with me now, “What did I just say.” The whole time we were having our back and forth Stiles had been leisurely feeding the chickens. “Plus, hardly any of them have any rubbery red stuff.”

He looked again, “Yeah, they’re definitely all chickens.” 

And that was it. The final verdict. I felt confident in Jackson’s expertise, so much so I reported back at dinner that night. 

“They’re all chickens.” 

“I’m proud of you, Derek.” Peter smiled encouragingly, “You overcame your fear.”

“Huh?” I asked, confused.

“You talked to him.” He grinned. 

“Oh, yeah! No big deal.” I scoffed.

“That’s what he told you? They’re all chickens?” My dad pressed, he looked like he didn’t believe me.

“Yeah.” I nodded.

“He’s a genius. You’re both genius- of course they’re all chickens!” He burst out, “A rooster’s a chicken. The question is, is one of them a rooster or are they all hens?” He stared at me. 

Hens?! Who said anything about hens?! Just then it hit me. Jackson didn’t know jack shit about chickens. 

“Do roosters strut?” I asked my dad.

“Yes, they do.” Peter nodded.

“What does that have to do with anything?” My dad questioned, his mouth full of food.

“They’re all hens.” I replied smugly. Dad gave me a funny look. 

“Well.” Mom interjected, “the main thing is, the eggs are okay. It’s all settled.”

Not for me. There was no way I was ever going to eat anything that had anything to do with Stiles Stilinski. 

“I’m not eating them.” I said. 

“Well, why not?” Mom asked. 

I scoffed, “Have you seen their yard? There’s not even any grass. It’s all mud and chicken turds.”

“Ew, gross!” Laura exclaimed from across the table. “Salmonella.” 

“Do you suppose they could have salmonella?” Mom asked, concerned again. 

“It’s not very likely.” Peter shook his head.

“Well, why take the risk?” Dad asked. 

“What do we do with the eggs?” Mom questioned. 

“Give them back.” Dad replied.

“Give them back? To-to Stiles?” I probed, uh oh.

“Sure.” Dad shrugged. “You talked to him before, right? It didn’t kill you.” 

“Well, what do I say?”

“Tell her we don’t eat eggs.” He suggested. “Or uh, we’re allergic to them or something. Come on, use your brains!” 

He was annoyed at me by this point so I just quietly agreed. 

It didn’t feel right to lie to Stiles. Besides, even a seventh grader would know that entire families aren’t allergic to eggs. But I didn’t want to hurt his feelings either. So, that left me with only one option, I had to throw them away. 

And thus, another near death experience in my ongoing saga with Stiles Stilinski had been successfully avoided. 

Until one week later. 

“Hi Derek. Brought you some more eggs.” Stiles grinned up at me. 

“Wow.” I replied. “Thanks.”

“Did your family like the first batch?” He asked, head titled to the side, big eyes staring into my soul. 

I laughed nervously, “Do you even have to ask?” 

“Great.” He smiled, “see you at school!” 

What I hoped would be a one-time event was just the beginning of a life consumed with lies, intrigue and deception. 

Every morning I’d be on the lookout for Stiles so if he happened to come I could whip open the door before he knocked. Then I’d dump the eggs before anyone noticed. And why? Why couldn’t I just face him? Why couldn’t I just say ‘No thanks, don’t want them. Don’t need them. Give them to the snake’?

Was I really afraid of hurting his feelings? Or, was I just afraid of him?

* * *

When Mrs Martin first suggested hatching eggs as my science project I was less than excited. That is, until I saw my first sign of life. 

My dad had made me a makeshift heat lamp with a toilet roll tube and some tin foil and as I held that first egg up to the light I saw what looked like a wriggling bean inside the brittle shell. 

“Is that it?” I asked in awe, pointing to the little spot. 

“That’s the embryo.” Dad nodded. 

“Wow.” I said. “It looks like a bean.” 

“It does.” Dad laughed. 

“Let’s try the other ones!” I was excited now. 

Suddenly it felt real. All the eggs were alive! They were, like, little bean babies inside every one. 

On the day of the fair, all six chicks hatched. What are the odds?!

I won first place. And that was cool, but all I really cared about were my chicks. 

My dad wasn’t crazy about us raising chickens but I begged and pleaded. I told him I would take care of everything. And I did. 

One day as I was feeding my flock, I noticed that Liam was missing. I looked all around the yard for him until I realised he was still in the coop. 

“Hey, Liam. What’s the matter?” I approached him carefully. “Are you okay? Aren’t you hungry? Come on, come here. What’s wrong baby?” I lifted him out of the coop gently. 

As I did, I noticed two, perfect, brown speckled eggs lying where he had just been sat. 

“Hey! You’re not Liam. You’re Liam-ette!” 

As it turned out, they were all girls. My hens laid more eggs than we could eat. At first we tried to keep up but after a month of boiling, frying and deviling, we were being overtaken by eggs. 

Then, one day, opportunity, in the form of our neighbor, Doctor Deaton, knocked. 

“Hello young man!” He called over the fence as I was collecting eggs from the coop. “If you ever have any extra, I’d be happy to buy them from you.” He said nodding at the eggs.

“Really?” I asked. 

“Certainly!” He exclaimed. “And I happen to know that my sister would be interested as well. She lives around the corner.” 

“Great!” I smiled. 

“Nothing like fresh eggs!” He grinned back. 

“Thanks Doctor Deaton!” 

“You bet, kid. Bye!” He waved, disappearing behind the fence again. 

Between Doctor Deaton and his sister my egg overflow problem was solved. Then I realised Mrs Hale deserved eggs too. But, I didn’t think it would be right to charge her, she had been such a good neighbor, lending us supplies when we ran out and giving my father a ride when our car wouldn’t start. It was the least I could do. 

Besides, if I happened to run into Derek then it wouldn’t be the end of the world. 

By the third time I brought eggs over to the Hales, I realised Derek was waiting for me. Waiting to pull open the door and say, ‘Thanks, Stiles. See you at school.’ And in return, I got a few moments alone with the world’s most dazzling eyes. It was a bargain. 

Until the day it wasn’t. 

It was two weeks after the sycamore tree was cut down and I was just starting to feel normal again. 

Shortly after I knocked on the Hales’ door, Derek opened it, “Hey Stiles. Right on schedule!” He said.

“Yeah, well, neither rain nor sleet.” I laughed.

“Huh?” Derek asked.

“You know, the mailman thing?” I replied.

“Oh. Right.” He exhaled and we looked at each other awkwardly for a second. “So, um, will you start riding the bus again?” He asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t been up there since…” I sighed trailing off.

“It doesn’t so bad anymore. It’s all cleared away.” He offered and I nodded sadly. “Well, um, I better get ready for school! Guess I’ll see you there.” 

“See you.” I waved, starting off down the path. 

Maybe Derek was right, maybe it was time I started riding the bus again. After all, didn’t he just tell me he wanted me to? Could it be that Derek Hale actually misses me?!

I was smiling to myself as I walked down the Hales’ garden path towards my own house when I heard the noise of a door opening. I turned to see what was going on. Maybe Derek was coming out to confess all. 

Derek was leaving the house with what looked like a paper bag full of trash. 

“Stiles! What are you still doing here?” He questioned, seeming a little nervous. 

“I was just thinking.” I shrugged. 

He looked down at the bag, “It’s pick up day. The cans are in front.” 

“I know. You need some help?” I offered, walking towards him to help him with the trash bag. 

He started to back off slightly, “No, I’ll do it later.”

That’s when I noticed them sat at the top of the bag. 

“Are those my eggs?!” I cried.

Derek paused for a second too long, “Yeah, I dropped them…” 

“They’re not broken.” I observed. “Why are you throwing them away?” 

He didn’t respond. 

“Don’t you want them?” I asked, a little upset. 

“It wasn’t me.” He insisted. “My dad didn’t think it was worth the risk.” 

What was he talking about? 

“Risk? What risk?” I demanded. 

“Salmonella.” He offered with a shrug. 

“What are you talking about? He’s afraid of getting poisoned?” I shook my head, completely baffled. 

“Well, Stiles. I mean, look at your back yard. It’s a complete mess. It’s like covered in turds.” 

“That’s not true.” Now I was really offended. “I clean up after my girls every day.” 

He sighed, “We just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” 

Barely containing the tears at this point I asked, “Have you always thrown them away?”

He looked down guiltily. 

Screw this guy. I stepped forward and snatched the box of eggs out of the trash bag. 

“You know, Doctor Deaton and his sister pay me for my eggs.” I snapped.

“They do?” He seemed genuinely shocked by this. 

“They pay me 60 cents a dozen.” I huffed. 

“I didn’t know.”

I felt sick, “How could you?” 

“I’m sorry.” He said.

“No you’re not.” I shook my head; I had never felt disappointment like this before. With that, I turned and stormed all the way back to my house, I didn’t even look back once.

How dare he throw my eggs away like that! How dare he insult our back yard! I was so done with Derek Hale!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Stiles. 
> 
> I decided to name Stiles' chickens after the baby pack because it seemed fitting?
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


	4. Iridescent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER:  
> Ableist language and wildly inaccurate comments regarding chromosomes, as well as the reference to a mental health hospital being called a "nuthouse". Feel free to skip to the end notes first for a summary of the potential trigger.
> 
> None of these views reflect the views of the author. Please proceed with caution. 
> 
> As usual nothing is mine and Papa Hale is a knob. Are we starting to see hope for Derek?

It didn’t take me long to realise that I’d traded in my old problems with Stiles Stilinski for a whole set of new ones. It was actually worse having him mad at me than having him annoy me. The way he ignored me was a constant reminder that I’d been a jerk. 

After my comments about his yard I’d see him out there angrily pulling up weeds and if he saw me, well… death glare is an understatement. He would refuse to come anywhere near me at school as well. I had tried to sit next to him in the cafeteria once, but he just threw his lunch in the trash and stormed off. 

Then, one day I was coming home from playing basketball with Jackson and things got weird.

My uncle. All I ever saw him wear was slippers but there he was out in Stiles’ front yard helping him with the weeds. Now, where did he even get those work boots?

I couldn’t stop looking over there and the more I looked, the madder I got. My uncle had already said more to Stiles in one hour than he’d said to me in the whole time he’d been living with us. I was pretty sure I hadn’t seen him laugh like that since my Aunt died. 

Just what was his deal with Stiles Stilinski? 

Later that night I was sat on my bed reading a comic book when I heard a knock on the door. Looking up I saw it was Peter.

“Hi Uncle Peter.” I said looking back at my comic. 

He sighed, “Stiles told me about the eggs.” I looked up at him guiltily. I already felt awful about that, did he have to rub it in?

“You know Derek,” he continued, “one’s character is set at an early age. I’d hate to see you swim out so far you can’t swim back.” Huh?

“Sir?” I asked, he was practically a stranger to me. How else was I supposed to address him?

“It’s about honesty, kid. Sometimes a little discomfort in the beginning can save a whole lot of pain down the road.” Oh. Yeah. I looked down.

He left quickly after that. 

\--

When it came to holding a grudge, Stiles Stilinski was truly impressive. All week I tried to approach him at school. He’d always find some way to duck me, and whenever he was in his yard, Uncle Peter was always there with him. 

Finally, one Saturday I saw my opening. Uncle Peter had gone into town to buy some Deep Heat (I guess all the yard work was starting to get to him) and Stiles was alone in his yard.

“It’s looking real good.” As I approached him he was watering the lawn.

He looked over his shoulder at me blankly and carried on watering. “Thanks, Peter did most of it.”

Well now was as good a time as ever I supposed, “I’m sorry for what I did.” 

For a minute, he didn’t say anything, he just stared down at the hose. Then, he shook his head and twisted the cap, shutting off the water. Huffing, he turned to me,

“I just don’t get it, Derek.” He bit out, “why didn’t you just tell me?”

I shrugged apologetically, “I don’t know. It was dumb. And, I shouldn’t have said anything about your yard either. It wasn’t right.” 

Stiles looked at the ground and shrugged, “Maybe it’s all for the best. I mean, look, I learned so much from Peter. It’s amazing.” 

Stiles smiled wistfully before continuing, “You’re lucky. I don’t even have any aunts or uncles.” 

“Oh.” I replied not knowing what to say.

“I feel sorry for him. He misses your aunt.” Stiles began to smile fondly then, “Can you believe it? He says I remind him of her.” 

“What?” I scoffed, my aunt had been nothing like Stiles Stilinski. 

“I know!” He laughed. “That’s what I said. But, he meant it in a nice way. Something about her spirit.” He looked down at the hose again. 

“Yeah. Well… good luck with the grass. I’m sure it’ll come up great.” I smiled awkwardly.

“Thanks.” Stiles turned and began to water the grass again.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” 

“I guess so.” 

Stiles continued to water the grass, not paying me a lick of attention as I stumbled back to my house.

\--

While Stiles’ acceptance of my apology was not all that I’d hoped for, at least the eggs thing was finally behind me. For the first time in months I could truly enjoy watching TV again. 

In fact, my family and I were gathered around the TV one evening, not long after I had apologised to Stiles, when Laura came stomping down the stairs. 

“Where are you going and why are you dressed like that?” My father yelled. Laura had only been wearing a red V-neck and some black skinny jeans, I didn’t see what all the fuss was about personally. 

Laura sighed, “Camden’s. His friends are bringing over recording stuff and we’re gonna make a demo.” 

“Demo?” Dad scoffed. “Like they know how to make a demo.” 

“You don’t even know them.” Laura scowled. 

“I don’t have to; I know the type.” 

Laura rolled her eyes and whilst walking away said, “You don’t know anything.”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” 

“I’m late!” 

“Be back by eleven!” Dad just had to get the last word in even as Laura was already slamming the door shut. 

Yep. Everything was back to normal. 

As this back and forth had been taking place, Peter had been sat in the arm chair near the window applying deep heat to his lower back. As soon as Laura had stormed out of the door, Dad rounded on him.

“Is that kid working you too hard?” He huffed. He was clearly on one now. 

Peter glared, “That kid’s name is Stiles. And no, he isn’t working me too hard.”

“You’ve developed quite a soft spot for him, huh?”

“David.” Mom warned. 

“No, Talia. I just want to find out why your brother has the energy to befriend a complete stranger when he won’t throw a baseball around with his own nephew.” He growled out. 

“It’s okay, Dad.” I insisted. I had gotten used to getting the cold shoulder from Peter now, it really wasn’t a big deal. 

“No, it’s not okay.” 

“Stiles reminds him of Aunt Corinne.” I tried to smile. 

“Of Corinne? Ha!” He scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.” 

Peter had clearly had enough, “You know why the Stilinski’s haven’t fixed up their yard until now?” 

“Yeah, because he’s too busy with his paint-by-numbers kit.” Dad laughed scornfully. 

“If you had a wife with a severe illness, what would you do?” 

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?!” Dad cried. 

“Stiles’ mother has frontotemporal dementia.” Peter looked disgustedly at Dad.

“So what? She’s not the gardener, is she? Ha!” 

“David!” Mom shouted.

Dad continued to laugh, “It was a joke! You know, other people have family troubles and they manage to mow their own lawns. I don’t know where their pride in ownership is.” 

“They don’t own that house!” Peter cried. “The landlords supposed to maintain it. Deputy Stilinski puts every extra penny he has into caring for his wife.”

“Don’t they have government facilities for that sort of thing?” Mom asked, glancing from Peter to Dad. 

“Maybe they thought a private facility would be better for her.” 

“Either way,” Dad interjected, “it’s not our fault that their family has some kind of chromosomal abnormality.” 

“It has nothing to do with chromosomes!” Peter yelled, he was on the edge of his seat now. It was if he was ready to pounce on Dad at a moment’s notice. “Frontotemporal dementia is caused by clumps of abnormal protein forming inside brain cells often because of a hereditary mutated gene! She had fifty fifty chance of being a perfect little baby, just like your son!” 

At his outburst Mom ran from the room in floods of tears and I was left clueless as to what was going on. 

“Goddamn it Peter!” Dad cried, chasing after Mom. 

Peter sighed and sunk his head into is hands, “Sorry about that.”

“Why is Mom so upset?” I asked.

“Because, your Mom almost ended up in Mr Stilinski’s shoes.” 

“Does fronto-whatever dementia run in our family too?” I was so confused. 

“No. Derek, when you were born you had the umbilical cord wrapped around your neck. Luckily the doctor managed to untangle you before you suffered from a lack of oxygen to the brain but it was a close one. You could have very nearly ended up needing twenty-four-hour care just like Mrs Stilinski.” Peter looked at me sympathetically. Oh.

We sat in awkward silence for about a minute before Peter patted me on the back and stood up.

Stretching his arms out he said, “Wanna go for a walk?” 

“Huh?”

“I find it helps to clear the mind!” 

So, off we went in the middle of the night for a jaunt, around the neighbourhood. We walked in relative silence, both deep in thought, until I had to ask.

“What would they have done with me?”

“You can’t dwell on something that might’ve been, Derek.” Peter sighed.

I chuckled nervously, “The way my dad was talking, sounds like he would have thrown me in a nuthouse or something.” 

“No, no. Now, that’s not fair. You can’t condemn him for something he hasn’t done.”

We walked on in silence for a short while, until we came to the stump of the sycamore tree.

Peter smiled fondly, “This is where that tree was wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah” I replied. 

He looked up, “Must have been a spectacular view.” I looked up too. 

“He’s quite a boy.” Peter said affectionately. 

I let out a short puff of laughter and smiled up at him. 

“Some of us get dipped in flat.” Peter went on. “Some in satin. Some in gloss. But, every once in a while, you find someone who’s iridescent. And when you do, nothing will ever compare.”

That night when we got back I took out the newspaper clipping of Stiles up in that damn tree. I must have stared at it for hours. 

Flat? Glossy? Iridescent? What the hell did that mean? Stiles Stilinski had always just seemed plain to me. Until now. 

The way he had talked about what it felt like to be up in that tree, to be held above the earth, brushed by the wind. Who in junior high talks like that?

This weird feeling had started to take over in the pit of my stomach and I didn’t like it. I was slipping, man. And it was time to get a grip!

* * *

I’d never been embarrassed about where we lived before. I also never really thought about money. I knew we weren’t rich, but I didn’t feel like we were missing anything. 

That is, until Derek Hale called our home a complete mess. 

I had to do something, and I knew what it was. One night at dinner, I brought it up to Dad. 

“I was thinking,” I started, “it might be cool to fix up the yard.”

“What?” Dad seemed surprised. 

“I mean, how much can grass seed cost?” I smiled. “I could plant a lawn, maybe some flowers. I could even put up a fence.” 

“Buddy. That’s a major undertaking.” Dad frowned. 

“I could pay for it with my egg money.” I shrugged.

“No, that’s your money. The landlord should be the one taking care of all this.” 

“But he doesn’t.” I replied quietly, “and we live here. And, it looks so bad.” 

“Stiles. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Dad.”

“It’s okay kid, you can tell me.” He insisted. 

“The Hales have been throwing away my eggs because they’re afraid of salmonella.” I sniffed, moving my food around my plate with my fork. “Because our yard is such a mess.”

“Did Talia say that?” 

“No, Derek did.” 

“But it must have been a family discussion. A boy his age doesn’t come up with that on his own.” Dad shook his head. “Anyway, who cares what they think.” 

“I care!” I cried. Why didn’t he get it?!

“Stiles. Let’s not get into this.”

“No, I’m tired of living like this Dad!” I threw my fork down. “I’m tired of you having to work multiple jobs, on top of being a Deputy, to try and make ends meet! I’m tired of us having to push a chair up against the washing machine just to keep the door shut. I’m tired of having to borrow Doctor Deaton’s vacuum cleaner every time ours breaks down!”

“Do you think this is the life I wanted for you!” Dad yelled. “Sometimes you have to sacrifice to do the right thing. You know the Beacon Memorial private care unit is the right place for your Mom. Besides, it’s not our yard!” 

“How can you say that Dad! How? We’ve lived here all of my life and you’re treating it like it’s a temporary thing, but it’s not. This is our home!” I cried. “Is it wrong to want to live somewhere you can be proud of?” 

“I am not moving your mother!” He shouted, banging the table

“Stop Dad! Stop it! I didn’t say that. Please, just stop.” I begged.

He sighed, wrapping his arms around me, “I’m sorry, Stiles. This is not your fault. We’ll work it out, I promise.” 

That was the first time my father and I had really yelled at each other. That night, Dad came into my room. He talked about Mom and how much he loved her and how he had promised her that he would always take care of her, and me. When he kissed me on the forehead that night after tucking me in, he whispered that of all his many blessings, I was his best. 

I felt sorry for my father. I felt especially sorry for my mother. But most of all, I felt lucky for me that in some way they were both mine. 

\--

I wanted to think that the reason I started working on the yard had nothing to do with Derek. It was only about making our house look better. After what he did with the eggs, why should I care what he thought? 

But I did. 

One afternoon I was attempting to tame the bush near the front door when I heard a voice call from the road. 

“Are you pruning that or trying to hack it to death?” I looked over my shoulder and saw the man I had seen coming in and out of Derek’s house since the start of the school year. 

“Hi,” he said reaching a hand out to me, “I’m Peter Hale. Derek’s uncle.” 

I shook his hand. 

“Sorry it’s taken me so long to come over and introduce myself.” 

“Nice to meet you.” I smiled. 

“So,” he said gesturing to the bush. “Are you trimming all of these to the same height?” 

“Well yeah,” I scratched the back of my head. “That’s what I was thinking. But I don’t know. Do you think it would look better just to take them out?”

“Oh, these are Hicksii shrubs. They should prune up nicely.” He unhooked a pair of garden sheers from his waist band and started trimming the branches. 

“Listen, Mr Hale…”

“Call me Peter.”

“Peter… If you’re here because of what Derek said, I don’t need your help.” I grimaced.

He just smiled and said, “I read about you in the paper. Corinne would have sat up in that tree with you. She would have sat up there all night.” He laughed. 

“Corinne?” 

“My wife. You remind me a lot of her.” 

We worked on the yard for weeks, and the whole time we worked, we talked. He wanted to know more about the sycamore tree and he knew exactly what it meant about the whole being greater than the sum of its parts! 

He said it was the same with people but sometimes with people the whole could be less. I thought that was pretty interesting. I started looking at people I’d known since elementary school trying to figure out if they were more or less than the sum of their parts.

Peter was right. A lot of them were less.

Of all my classmates, the one person I couldn’t seem to place was Derek. Until recently, I would’ve said with absolute certainty that he was greater, far greater, than the sum of his parts. But now I wasn’t so sure. 

\--

One Saturday, I was alone in the yard, watering the lawn when I heard Derek’s voice behind me. 

“It’s looking good Stiles. Nice job!” He told me. 

“Thanks.” I replied, continuing to hose down the grass. “Peter did most of it.” 

“I’m sorry for what I did.” 

Here we go. I turned off the hose, “I just don’t get it, Derek. Why didn’t you just tell me?” 

Was he really sorry? Or was he just saying these things to make himself feel better?

Then I thought, maybe I just wanted him to be more than the sum of his parts. But, as I looked into his eyes, those dazzling eyes, for the first time I was pretty sure Derek Hale was less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Peter reveals to the Hales that Claudia Stilinski has frontotemporal dementia and Paper Hale has some outdated views and makes a derogatory comment about chromosomes in the effort to joke about her condition (he's literally so fucking dumb). Peter argues back and sets him straight. It is revealed that Derek almost had a lack of oxygen to the brain at birth and could have suffered brain damage as a result. Derek worries that his dad would have put him in the "nuthouse" if he had. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'm back at work now so updates might become a little less frequent but I promise we are still going full steam ahead with this fic! Watch this space.


End file.
